Smile For Me
by Avrel the Teller
Summary: England never seems to smile, so America has taken it upon himself to make England smile at least once.


"Don't suggest superheroes and giant robots at every meeting, git! How are they supposed to even help?"

"Dude, they could protect everyone from crime and stuff!"

"And how do you expect to even make a giant robot?"

"Japan'll help me!" America grinned at the quiet nation. "Right, Japan?"

Japan jumped a little. "Oh…Yes, I agree."

"Why don't you try having your own opinions for once?" Switzerland snapped.

America smiled to himself as the nations continued to bicker. He had to admit, there were times when he enjoyed these meetings. He enjoyed annoying England and watching the other nations argue and sleep and get annoyed. Even Germany calling for silence couldn't bring down his mood, and he was still smiling as he sat down.

However, he couldn't suppress one twinge of disappointment as he glanced over at England to see that England was still scowling, his arms folded across his chest.

America sighed, leaning back in his chair. _England doesn't smile that much, _he thought. _He used to smile a lot more when I was his colony, but now…_

He tuned out the other nations as he thought, occasionally stealing glances at England. _He really does look nicer when he smiles…If only he would smile more._

The idea came so suddenly to America that he quickly sat up straight in his chair, banging his knees on the meeting table in the process. Of course! It was all so simple, wasn't it? America grinned, wondering why he hadn't thought of this earlier.

If he wanted England to smile more, then he'd have to give England a reason to smile.

* * *

><p>Attempt one: Enjoy England's cooking.<p>

"You better not be joking about this," England said as he carried a plate of scones to the kitchen table.

"Of course I'm not. A hero wouldn't joke about this," America said. He looked anxiously around England's kitchen. Scones weren't supposed to be that shade of purple, right?

England placed the plate on the table before moving to sit across from America. He was watching so intently that America thought that he wouldn't notice if his stove caught fire. Which was likely if he kept forgetting to turn the burners off.

After a couple of seconds mentally preparing himself, America grabbed the smallest scone he could see. _Come on, America, you can do this. Be a hero and make England smile!_

Without giving himself another chance to hesitate, he shoved the scone into his mouth. It took all of his willpower not to immediately spit it out. He forced himself to swallow it.

"Well?" England asked anxiously. "How was it?"

"It…" _Come on, America, now's your chance! _"It was…" _One word! Say it!_

America stood up, knocking his chair over in his haste, and ran over to the sink to wash his mouth out. "Terrible! Jeez, England, what makes you think that was edible?"

England stood up as well. His face was an angry red. "My cooking isn't terrible! You just have no taste!"

"Dude, I don't think scones are supposed to be purple," America pointed out.

England glared at him. "I didn't let you come over just for my cooking to be insulted."

"I don't think that could be considered cooking," America replied.

England scowled. Then he pointed in the direction of the front door. "Out."

America hesitated, finally realizing that he'd screwed up his plan. "Uh, wait, England—"

"OUT!"

"Okay, okay, jeez," America said, walking to the door. He paused on the doorstep and turned around to face England. "You know, you 'd look a lot better if you weren't so grumpy all the time."

England's answer was to slam the door in his face.

America sighed. "Well. That could've gone better."

* * *

><p>Attempt two: Make tea for England.<p>

After the last disastrous attempt, America had invited England over to his house to prevent anymore doors slamming in his face, as well as hopefully keep England out of the kitchen.

"How hard can it be to make a cup of tea?" America muttered to himself as he poured the boiling water into a teacup that he'd found in the back of his shelves.

Of course, he didn't realize just how finicky England could be about his tea.

"You put too much sugar in," England complained, putting his cup down on the table.

The two were seated on a couch in the living room. America had been watching England, much the same way England had been watching America trying his scones.

"What do you mean, there's too much sugar?" America asked.

"What do you think I mean, git?" England asked. "There's too much sugar."

"I didn't put that much sugar in!" America protested.

"Oh really?" England asked, raising an eyebrow. "Then how much did you put in?"

"About two tablespoons."

"What!" England frowned at America. "That's way too much! No wonder you always have so much energy, if you consume that much sugar."

"I don't have that much energy!" America paused. "…Do I?"

England rolled his eyes and stood up. "Well, if that's all you wanted me for, I think I'll go and find a decent cup of tea. Good day."

"Wait, England!" But England didn't look back.

America slouched down so far he nearly fell of the couch. "This is harder than I thought."

* * *

><p>Attempt three: Play a game of soccer.<p>

Now he was reaching. America wasn't the best at soccer. He preferred baseball or basketball or football, but he knew that soccer was one of England's favorite sports.

"Since when did you play football?" England asked, absentmindedly juggling the soccer ball.

"Football…? Oh, right, right, you mean soccer," America said. He shrugged. "I dunno. I just felt like playing. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to show you some new moves. I'm the hero, after all, and heroes are good at things like that."

"We'll see," England replied, setting the ball down. "You ready?"

"Of course I'm ready!" America said, grinning.

That grin soon faded when he saw just how good England was at soccer. America might have been stronger than England, but brute strength alone didn't win soccer games. England blew by him time after time with a show of amazing footwork, and it was all America could do to keep up. But he never once saw England smile. There was a look of intense concentration on England's face, and from time to time he would smirk, but there was never one genuine smile.

_Maybe I shouldn't have chosen something competitive,_ America mused after England had once again outmaneuvered him. _The only thing that I'll be able to expect after this will be gloating…_

Eventually, the two ended up sprawled out on the ground, both breathing heavily. "Hah…You're not very good at football, are you?" England asked.

"Just you wait," America said. "I'll show you real football. We'll see who's laughing then."

"You wish," England replied.

America sighed. He sat up, glanced at England, then looked away. The game had been fun and all, but England still wasn't smiling.

"Is something wrong, America?" England asked, sitting up as well. "Are you that upset about losing?"

America turned back to England. How was he supposed to tell England everything that was going through his mind? Was it really that hard to ask for a simple smile?

An idea flashed through his mind, and before he could question, he reached out and gave England a hug.

"A-ah?" England said. "A-America, what are you doing?"

America pulled back, looking England straight in the eyes. England's face was bright red, though this time not from anger. "Can you do something for me?"

"W-what is it?" England asked, obviously still flustered.

America took a deep breath. Why was this so hard to ask? "Smile for me. You never smile, but when you do…It lights up everything around you. I can't really explain it."

England stared at him. "Is that what all of this was about? My cooking, the tea, the game? You just wanted me to smile?"

America nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Where had these sudden feelings come from? He didn't know, and he didn't think that he really cared at the moment.

For the longest time, England didn't say anything. Then he slowly shook his head. "You git, doing all that just for a smile…" And then, slowly but surely, he smiled. It was the same smile America remembered from his days as England's colony, the one that had always made him want to see it again and again.

America grinned back, throwing his arms around England again and knocking them both onto the ground. As England squirmed from beneath him, protesting loudly, America found that he really didn't care where those feelings had come from. He was just happy that he'd found them.


End file.
